


“It's All a Giving Up and Adjusting”

by fragrantwoods



Category: True Blood
Genre: BFFs, Blood, Gen, adjustments, fads, grown-ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-25
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:06:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OC Gloria adjusts to vampire life with the help of her BFF. Gloria has an absent Maker but decades of experience from which to pull. If she survived disco, she can survive vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“It's All a Giving Up and Adjusting”

**Author's Note:**

> Title and postscript is from Deadwood episode 26

“It's All a Giving Up and Adjusting”

 

 _It could be worse,_ she thought, tapping the skin under her chin with the back of her hand.

She rubbed some night cream on the skin of her face and neck with upward strokes. She knew her skin wouldn't respond to treatment anymore, but old habits are hard to break. Besides, it had been her dedication to good skin care that kept her from jumping off a bridge now (figuratively speaking).

It was always possible that some scientist (most likely Japanese, since they had most of the vampire science and most of the really good cosmetics), 50 years from now, would discover that moisturizer did have a positive effect on dead skin.

Stranger things have happened.

Now, being undead had done wonders for eyeliner, she had to admit. With no oiliness around her eyelids, her liner lasted all night. She was still using her liner, eyeshadow, and mascara.

It did take some getting used to, that her skin's warmth would no longer let her shadows sort of melt into her lids (in a natural way, not creasing or anything), but a good brush and longer, careful blending took care of that.

Foundation was a bigger nightmare than it had been in life, though. Gloria looked through her foundation drawer: ivory, beige-ivory, porcelain, ecru, W20, C20, Y003...in liquid, mousse, pressed powder, and loose powder.

Even with her extensive palette, she couldn't get around the fact that whatever shade blended at the start of the evening would look ghastly after her first glass or two of True Blood. But if she anticipated her post-blood tone, she would have the dreaded line of demarcation at her jawline for an hour or so. Bummer.

She could see why the consensus on the health and beauty blogs was to skip foundation entirely, using a touch of “glamour” if absolutely necessary. There was back-and-forth about bronzer vs. dead-natural, but that was mostly for the younger vamps. Vamps her age tended to focus on eyes and lips, and dealing with wrinkles that had been set before the turning.

That advice was mostly GOGO (Glamour Or Get Over it).

The nails...now that was an area of self-care where she was much happier. No more acrylics, gels, or fill-ins. There were two nail salons in town now that had late-night hours for vamps needing a color change. Would've been hell being stuck with a Christmas Red in July.

A critical look in the mirror. _Would I have liked to have been invisible in mirrors, like the movies?_ She mulled over this a second, thought about trying to get liner straight without a reflection. _No, that would suck._

It's not like she had any vampire BFFs, as the boardies said, to help her.

Or family members still alive.

Or a husband (who she probably would have had to leave, so it's a blessing, kind of, that he had passed, but still...).

Or a living son (Stupid skis. Stupid trees.).

Or neighbors close enough to notice her comings and goings and grooming.

It would have been cooler, probably, if Anita had been turned when Gloria was. But Anita had been FUBAR (Fucked Up Beyond All Repair) when help arrived on the scene. It was probably the... _well, the decapitation-just say it,_ she thought, that screwed Anita.

 _And the cocktail menu, the three mango margaritas and the 2 shots of peach schnapps Anita had before leaving the restaurant._

 _I told her women our age looked stupid drinking flavored schnapps._

 _And driving after drinking._

 _And letting friends drive kind of, sort of drunk-but-she-said-she-could-still-drive._

But Anita had been that friend that everyone has, more fun than good sense, and a misjudgment of median placement had Anita turning her cherry-red vintage 'Stang the wrong way on a four lane highway.

The one car on the road just HAD to be a speeding SUV. With a crappy cargo holder and shitty tie-downs. And some big sharp stuff up top. After the crash, they sped off, probably thinking A) no one could live through that bloody mess, and B) their SUV seem to still be working. Maybe there was a C) they'd been knocking a few back themselves...always a possibility.

A good Samaritan-slash-newbie vampire, a First Responder in life, had gotten to Gloria before the police did. Bless his non-beating heart, he had tried to “save” Gloria, but he was inexperienced, had not been a rocket scientist in life nor now, and he ended up turning her instead.

She suspected some “pretty” was left in her after the crash, and the guy was thinking this would be easier than one of the vamp dating sites. She also suspected he had been turned by a vamp hustler or someone equally unscrupulous, as she never did see any signs that he had gotten any instructions himself, other that “drink synthetic blood” and “stay out of sunlight”.

That was pretty much all he gave her in turn, after she made it clear that her abstract knowledge of vampire life was more expansive than his limited practical skills. The Great Reveal plus boredom had made her a pretty fair researcher on recent vampire data.

He had been nice enough as far as the wreck and all, but from previous reading, she was pretty sure that those first few days had more boob-fondling going on than was necessary. When he pinched her ass really hard, to “show you how fast bruises clear up when you're a vamp”, she imagined him as an earnest but substandard and creepy (moving towards assault-y) mechanic.

That made it easier to politely but firmly take her leave. If he had any powers to make her stay, either he sucked at using them, or didn't mind seeing the last of her.

She had bitched about this to Cindy, now her last best living friend (and hairdresser), at some length. Cindy had come over regularly, once Gloria assured her that, although she was undead, she was fully stocked with True Blood, and wouldn't eat her.

And being turned hadn't made Gloria lose any of her culinary skills or be less of a hostess. She still enjoyed that, even if it had turned into sniff-and-stare. That was nothing new, though.

She had baked, grilled, and sauteed some great dishes through the low-cal periods of her life. Cooking and watching others enjoy her efforts had been a lifestyle for months at a time. This wasn't too different from being on a juice fast and company coming over.

Cindy had been surprised from the start that her friend had been left pretty much high and dry by the Maker-guy. Gloria had added “seriously pissed off” to her own surprise.

“I see all these posts on-line about how your Maker is supposed to get you through your...I guess probationary period? You know, like orientation? Nothing like that, I'm telling you, other than the creepy-feelies. Minimalist jerk.”

Cindy wanted to help, but this was kind of like that year Gloria went low-carb and Cindy had done low-fat. She didn't have a great skill set for this kind of problem. But she could still listen and do sympathetic bitchery. That had gotten them through some bad break-ups and bad bosses.

Today, Cindy, bless her, had taken some clothes to the dry-cleaner, gotten the oil changed in Gloria's car, and dropped her vacuum cleaner off for repair. By the time she returned, it was after sunset. Gloria had been out of her light-tight basement room for a good hour. _So there was one good thing about falling for the tanning bed fad back in the day,_ she thought. The room she had constructed, just big enough to maneuver around her fake-n-bake bed, made a properly secure daytime resting place once she had the tanning bed replaced with a travel casket.

Gloria had fixed a light cheese, prosciutto, and melon plate, with a chilled Pinot Grigio, heating up a True Blood for herself. And to remind both of them that they were still entitled to some of the finer things in life, she brought out her grandmother's crystal. At least to her, True Blood tasted better if drunk out of something more elegant than the bottle.

Cindy came in, entering on previous invitations, sat down on the couch and kicked her shoes off. She got up once to forage for some Kalamata olives in the fridge. _Lord love a vampire who remembers her friends' special treats,_ she thought, as she curled up again with the wine and hors d'oeuvres.

“Still not heard anything from your Maker?”

“Nope. Rat-bastard. And that's another thing...I shouldn't be able to call him stuff like “rat-bastard” without him knowing and jacking me up. Still nothing.”

“Uh, Gloria? Your fangs are out. Dial it back a little, please?”

“Shit.” Fanging when pissed off was a bitch to control.

“Sorry”. Her fangs snicked back in.

“Better?”

 _Just like when we checked each other's teeth for lipstick before we went clubbing. The more things change..._

“Yeah, you're good.”

Cindy continued “Maybe if you called him “ dirty cock-sucking undead asshole”? Maybe “rat bastard” isn't enough to trip his “respect my Maker-ness” trigger.”  


“I don't think that's it. I get flashes from him, but it's mostly “I'm sick of store-brand True Blood”, “I wish they had True Blood that tasted like beer”, or “deer season this year is going to be killer” (that leads to “Shit! Can't eat venison”), and “ free internet porn is hard to get off on; I wish I could afford the pay sites.”

“Crap. Did he seem up on vampire facts and rights and resources at all?

Gloria just looked at her.

“Maybe if it involved vampire...I don't know...dirt track racing? Equal rights to 4-wheel?”

“So, you still going to message boards to get your vamp tips?”

“Mostly. There's some stuff on TV and in the press, but I need the interaction, you know? Like, right now, I'd like to know if you can dye my roots, or do some low-lights, but I don't know if vamp hair works the same. That kind of girl-talk. You heard anything about that?”  


“I think it's going to be a featured workshop at my next hair show. You wearing a new blush?”  


“Nope. I had a glass while I was waiting for you, so I'm on my second. I get a kind of flush.”

“Better a flush than a flash, right?”

Both grinned at memories of their recent menopausal days. Gloria was pretty sure vamps didn't have to deal with living flesh stuff like menopause, but she was glad she didn't have to find her Maker to ask about _that_.

Cindy looked away from Gloria's eyes for a second. “Glor, I feel a little guilty. I-”

Gloria was on her feet faster that she could have been while alive, in Cindy's face, holding Cindy's arms, fangs out.

“Cindy, what did you do?”  


The d's were still a little soft through the fangs, but she put a colder tone in her words than Cindy had ever heard. Even with the True Blood flush, her face looked pale and cold. Her brown eyes were icy and had a red tinge around the irises.

Cindy tried to pull away, but Gloria's grip was too strong to break and likely was already bruising her flesh. Her fangs were extended past her Coral Spice lipstick. It looked like she was gritting her teeth to stay in some sort of control, and her fangs were having none of it.

 _Fuck me,_ Cindy thought. _And fuck the idea that anything has stayed the same._

“God-damn, Glor! I looked at the fucking sizes in your shit I took to the cleaner's!  


“I was going to compliment you on getting down to a size 8 before fucking getting killed and coming back to fucking life, and I was going to ask you if going to that fucking “Trim & Tone” place was what did it, and then I was going to keep on being the best living fucking friend you still have left.”  


Cindy was crying now, mad and scared and sad. This was harder that the articles made it sound.  


“And did you know you're crying blood, and blood's dripping out your nose, and you're scaring the shit out of me?”  


Gloria pulled back, fangs up, let go of Cindy's arms, and wiped her tears and nose with her grandmother's linen napkin. Eye make-up mixed with blood.

“I'm sorry, Cin. You said you felt guilty, and this really strong, hyper-self preservation thing just flew all over me. My brain just went to “betrayal & danger” alert, or something. I'm really sorry.”

“How'd—how'd you get out of that chair so fast, anyway?” Cindy sniffled, trying to smile.  
“ I thought your hip was fucked up with arthritis or something.”

“Vampire hips. Bettter than titanium replacements.” Gloria tried to smile, too, but her fang-tips kept pricking the insides of her lips.

“Damn, hon, go wash your face. I...that blood shit is...” She looked down.”I'm not trying to be ugly, but...t's pretty gross.”

Stung, Gloria went to the bathroom to clean up. She washed her face, seeing by the light coming in from the hall, avoiding the mirror. Telling herself she didn't want to get the light switch bloody.

Finishing, she looked at the blood on the washcloth. She reflected she had looked at bloody washcloths, bloody panties, and sometimes blood everywhere, it seemed, for thirty years or more.

 _Mama said it was dirty and bloodstains needed to be soaked in cold water. Feminists said it was beautiful, as sign of our strength and fertility. The pagan girls said it was sacred and moonblood would make plants grow better. Once, I wore garnet earrings every week of my moon-time, to honor the blood._

 _My blood. It flowed every month, except when I carried Jack._

 _It's not my blood anymore, though, is it?_

 _It used to come with a nice, rhythmic heartbeat._

 _I miss my heartbeat. How stupid is that?_

She went back into the living room. Cindy was on her feet, coat on, wine glass half-full from the first pour. A few olive pits and melon rind were left on the plate.

“Glor, we need to talk.”

“If you say “it's not you, it's me,” I will jack you up.”

Both smiled at the lameness, both thinking that now, Gloria “jacking up” Cindy would probably end really badly.  


“Look, I don't know what a good friend-of-a-vamp should know, okay? God knows we've bluffed our way through unfamiliar territory before. Remember your promotion? And France? And when I thought I was bisexual? Some things, smart people can wing it.

But, Glor, I don't think you're going to be able to wing this with message boards, youtube, and my sympathetic ear. I'll still be your go-to girl for daylight stuff, but if your Maker is a piece of undead shit, you need...something else. A mentor, a tutor, someone who can hook you up with everything you need to know.”

“This isn't because I'm a vampire, is it? This is because I'm dead.”

“No, it's pretty much the whole package. The dead, I could probably get used to, but the super-strength, could kill me in a heartbeat, rip my throat and drink my blood thing? That is some scary shit and you can't “research” your way into controlling that.  
Remember you didn't “get” yoga, or tai chi, or tae bo until you put the books down and went to some instructors? “

“When did we do tae bo?”

“Um...the late 90s, I think. I know it was after stirrup pants, but definitely before “Deadwood”.  
Anyways...one of my regular customers has a cousin, who knows a guy that does daylight stuff for a vampire out of state.”

“I'm not feeling “road trip” these days, Cin.”

“Where I'm going with this, is that this guy, the daylight guy, told my regular's cousin that there's this vamp-guru-geek guy in Louisiana who does this secret data warehouse thing that's like a vampire directory.”

“Sounds super-secret, all right.”

“Damn, Glor. The directory _stuff_ is secret. The fact that it _exists_...a little less so. I'm just thinking maybe they've got info like “willing to mentor noobs”, like a—a vampire craigslist.  
“I mean, if a geek-type started it, you know he's got to be tweaking all the time, right? Beta'ing it, making new sort fields, gathering new data, that sort of stuff.”

“”Tweaking” sounds like he does meth.”

 _Grumpy, snarky bitch, dead or alive, Lord love her,_ Cindy thought.

“If I can get this guy's contact info, would you at least try to talk to him? Because, Glor, seriously, don't get mad, but you are sliding towards one hot mess. And that's going to bring major fuckery to your whole “elegant yet still cool” thing.”  


Gloria sat down, and started fiddling with her bracelet, then moved on to an earring.

“Will you still ask about vamp hair at the workshop? And...be cool with hanging out still? If I call this guy?”

“You know I will. Once you own your shit and get a handle on it. Fuck, I'll even re-watch Firefly over here. And discuss it after, even. Again.”

Gloria couldn't help but smile at that.

“I love you, woman.”

“Back at'cha, woman.”

Cindy finally felt like smiling, too.

 

It took four days, six calls, two voice messages, and one PM on facebook.

Gloria flipped her phone open when Cindy's picture popped up.

“Got a pencil?”

“Hang on...yeah.”

“He's supposed to be pretty nice, a little flaky, but really knows his stuff. Knows vamps all over the place. Okay, it's...first name: William, goes by “Bill”, last name: C-O-M-.”

Gloria made her friend repeat the number twice. She programed the number into her phone.

And with hitting “send”, Gloria took her first real step towards owning her vampire shit.

 

 

 _“Change calls the tune we dance to “,_ Deadwood, episode 26


End file.
